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Sunday, May 22, 2016

I learned a long time ago the little
things are the most important in life and can’t compare to wealth of money or
material things. When I was growing up we didn’t have much material things and
sure didn’t have any money but we made do with what we had and was so grateful
and blessed beyond measure.

We turned little things into big ones
in so many ways. We never had fancy, store bought toys to play with. We made
our own play things with a lot of imagination and a whole lot of ingenuity.

We built playhouses all over the mountain
side and we never stopped till we had a grand little playhouse. We’d use old
pots and pans that mama had discarded due to the holes in em or she’d let us
have an old worn out bed sheet, etc. We used anything we could get our hands on
when our imaginations kicked into high gear. We’d play all day if we had our
chores done and didn’t realize how hungry we really were till mama hollered,
“supper time.”

My brothers made their own cars and
trucks out of shoe polish bottles, matchboxes, etc. When they’d get tired of
playing house with us girls they could be found playing on the red, clay bank
over from the house. They’d play for hours pushing that dirt and using their
imagination on that bank. Mama grumbled a lot over the dirty britches and knees
that were worn out but she kept em washed and clean. Clorox was her best friend
and soap was our best friend, according to mama.

On Sunday afternoons we’d get a treat
and we looked forward to that. In the afternoon the whole family would go on a
picnic, especially in the warmer months. Daddy always planted watermelons every
year and when one got ripe we’d stick it in the spring to get cold. Mama would
cook a meal fit for a king and we’d carry our food in boxes, etc. and grab a
watermelon out of the spring and start out walking. We’d walk way back in the
woods till we found the right spot to eat. We’d spread out our food on an old
blanket or sheet and we’d eat till we popped. That was the best eating
anywhere. It tasted so much better on the outside surrounded by nature than at
the table.

We’d explore every little hole and
corner and mama would tell us not to wander off to far and step on a snake.
Daddy loved to explore as much as we did and we’d all spread out in different
directions and knowing those woods like we did we never had any trouble finding
our way back. We always made the whole evening out of it and by the time we’d
walk back home it was sundown and the animals had to be fed.

If daddy took a notion to go another
direction the next Sunday afternoon we’d all jump on the back of his old truck
and ride the backroads till we’d find the perfect place to stop and rest a
while, as daddy called it. He’d park the old truck under a big, shade tree and
search till we found the right spot to spread out our food, even if it was in a
cow pasture under a big shade tree. If it was early spring we’d pick a bunch of
poke salat and if we found a creek or branch somewhere we’d pick some creasy
greens to take home and cook. There’s different types of creasy greens but mama
always said the ones that grow near water are the best.

When it came time to head in home we’d jump on
the back of that old truck and it felt like heaven with the wind blowing
against our face and skin and we savored every minute of every mile.

We’d hurry and do our chores when we
got home so we could watch Wild Kingdom on our little black and white TV. It
came on every Sunday evening and we looked forward to it so much. Of course, this
was after we got a TV. After it was over we’d go outside and play till mama hollered,
“young’uns ye better get in this house before ye get a snake wrapped around ye
legs.”

And then there was the little creek
and all its glory. We had one particular spot that made for a big pond and it
was called The Old Mill Pond. It was named after the gristmill my grandpa,
daddy and uncle had operated so many years earlier and was located just up the
creek a piece from where the gristmill sit, or what was left of it. You talk about having a blast, we did. We’d
play at that pond till sundown and we got so hungry and tired we’d almost crawl
in home for supper. Mama would give us a good going over for laying in the
creek so long, as she called it. But you talk about cooling off on a hot,
summer day, there was no better place to be found than that cold, icy creek.
The water stayed just as cold in the summer as the winter. We made many happy
memories there and till this day when I step in that cold creek that happens to
be located behind my house It takes me back to my childhood and those long ago
days we all enjoyed so much.

We had the best time of our lives
running through the thickets, woods or playing in the creek. It’s a wonder we didn’t get snake bit but
snakes never crossed our mind. We were to busy being a young’un and living the
good life and loving every minute of it.

I loved it when families all came
together and something as small but yet so big like sitting down at the table
come mealtime was the natural thing to do. I can’t remember a time we didn’t
all sit down together to eat and that table full of a delicious bounty we grew
in the gardens or big bowls of gravy and hot biscuits hitting the spot each
morning. Mama always took time to cook a big breakfast for us before we went to
school each morning even after she went to work on a public job.

I miss those days even more now since
I’m grown. In this fast, paced life we’re living in, folks ain’t got time for
nothing anymore. It makes me sad knowing all those little things are still
there wasting away.

Our childhood and imagination was our best
friend and the little things were big things in that long ago place where time
stood still and all was right within a childhood world. I just wish I could
ride the back of that ole truck one more time with daddy going five miles an
hour, what joy it’d bring.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Old country roads remind
me of walking to church come Sunday morning and walking back come Sunday night.
They remind me of walking to the little country store with mama's list in hand.
Those early morning walks to catch the school bus and walking back in home at
end of day, stopping long enough take our shoes off and wade across the little
creek come warm weather, is priceless.

The fresh morning smells
of honeysuckle, wild roses, mountain laurel or crabapple blossoms drifting in
the spring time air, or walking in those big snows that were knee deep in the
winter, rolling in the snow and throwing snowballs at each other along the way.

Taking refuge under a big
tree come a hard, summer's rain and still takin a wetting and loving it to no
end. Then we ran through mud holes with our bare feet, busting em wide open,
never thinking about getting the toe itch till it was to late.

Ahhhh, how can I forget
the huckleberries and that sweet taste. We knew exactly where they came up and
picked em fast as they ripened, along side the road.

And those delicious
blackberries we picked for mama to can and looking forward to that fresh
blackberry cobbler, all the while eating more than we picked. Never thinking
twice about the chiggers or poison ivy till it was to late.

Climbing over barbed wire
fences and ripping our clothes to pick poke salat for mama. She didn't take to
kindly to the ripped clothes or the dangers of getting snake bit but the poke
salat changed the subject really quick.

Riding an ole, rusted bicycle around every
curve and bend, with nary a brake knowing we'd hit the ditch or the creek. It's
a wonders we hadn't broke our neck or worse.

And trying to outrun the
others to get the mail every day and stumping our toes along the way. They
never did have a chance to heal. When cold weather settled in and we had to
wear shoes we'd still hobble down those ole roads.

I couldn’t count how many
trips we made to and fro carrying gallons of milk from the neighbors when we
were between cows, hungry for some good cornbread and milk to go along with
supper, sometimes making a complete meal out of it.

And how can I forget takin a few poufs off of
a cigarette butt after snatchin it outta the yard when daddy threw it down.
Ahhhh, the sickness and turning green that followed, I'd sure like to forget
and is still a reminder today. I said then and there, "never again.”
Whewww.

It didn't matter the
season or the weather, we made memories to last a lifetime and those ole dirt
roads paved the way.

There's so many memories
that still linger. I go back quite often and listen to the echoes of a
childhood full of many seeds that's been sowed. How can we ever forget an old
dirt road.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

Every year
when spring time rolls around, my thoughts take me back to daddy and how he
loved planting his gardens. When I say gardens I mean forty acres. That’s what
mama used to call it. He’d start planning his planting and looking at the signs
early as February. If it’d been a mild winter he’d have the taters, onion beds,
cabbage, lettuce, etc. in the ground by the end of February. If it was a harsh
winter and late spring he’d be chomping at the bits to get it all in the
ground, especially the taters. Mama would tell him, “ye need not fret, them
taters won’t come up none till the ground warms and ye know it.” And the signs
had to be dark nights before he put the taters in the ground or he’d say, “they’ll
be all vines and no taters.” That meant no full moon or new moon. So he’d wait
it out till he got the chance at it. And he’d stay right with those gardens,
nary a weed was allowed to grow.

My oldest brother helped him plow out the
patches and it’d take em forever to get em plowed. Daddy had an old mule at one
time but when he graduated to a tilter he didn’t know how to use it. My brother
caught on and he mainly worked the tilter after that, especially after daddy
started showing his age. But that didn’t stop him none. He kept on wanting
those patches planted every year and the more the better. He’d plant enough to keep
an army going, as mama used to say.

We all
helped with the planting and harvesting. I remember many a day planting that
corn and beans and anything else for that matter. I always dreaded it when it
came time to gather the corn out of the field. Man, I hated getting stung by
those pack saddles, it hurt so bad.

He always
said there were good years and bad years for everything. For example, if the
cabbage didn’t do any good he’d say it wasn’t a good year for it. That meant
the weather wasn’t just right or etc. He always watched the signs and made sure
it was a good time to plant anything. He was like mama when it came to her
canning and pickling, especially pickling or making kraut.

When the cabbage
came in and the signs were good for making kraut, that was an all day job. We
chopped that cabbage with a cream can that daddy would take the top off and
sharpen it really good with a file or sharpening stone. We’d pack the cabbage
in jars after we chopped it fine enough and for every quart we’d add a teaspoon
of pickling salt and a teaspoon of sugar. Then we’d add warm water straight
from the kitchen faucet to it as we stuck a butter knife down in the middle and
around the edges of the kraut till the water filled to the top of the rim. Mama
always said the sugar was for keeping it white and she always wanted her kraut
to stay white. When the cans were ready we’d help daddy carry them to the
smokehouse cause they had to be put in a cool place to work off.

He always
planted patches of early corn and beans and late corn and beans. They all kinda
straggled in and we’d break and string beans in the summer till late into the
night. Mama didn’t have anything but a hot water canner and having to can on a
wood cook stove she’d save the hot water bath till morning.

A lot of the
beans were pickled with corn and put in churn jars to work off when the signs
were just right. We’d mix them all together and put em in the churn and add a
cup of pickling salt for every five gallon of water. Those beans had to work
off for nine days and we’d take em out and put em in a big pan on the stove and
get em hot through and through and put em in the jars. Daddy and mama loved
that stuff but I never did like em myself.

Daddy’s
favorite corn was hickory cane and he’d plant a whole field of it so we could
cut it off the cob and cream it. Daddy loved that corn with a big slice of
tomato. We liked it too, but he wanted it every meal. The hickory cane corn was
the best pickled with the beans also.

Since mama
didn’t have a fancy corn cutter she and I used a knife. I’ve laughed so hard at
her when I’d look at her glasses and how speckled they were. Of course, we were
both covered in corn and the whole kitchen as well. It even got on the
ceilings.

When the
summer bounty started coming in it was overwhelming to say the least. There
were so many things that needed canning or pickling and a lot came in when the
blackberries, strawberries, etc. got ripe. I helped mama many a day stand over
that wood cook stove filling cans fast as we could. The heat was suffocating
but as mama used to say, “it’ll beat a snowball any day.” Of course this would
be after we’d hit the blackberry patch at daybreak. There’d sit the buckets of
blackberries to put up as well. She’d can a lot of them to make cobblers but
she liked to have a few cans on hand just to drink when someone got the sick
stomach. They sure do settle the stomach and I know firsthand.

After we got
a deep freezer the rest of the berries would be put in the freezer till time
for jelly and jam making. Mama liked to wait and make it in late summer or
fall. She always said it would thicken better when the humidity wasn’t so high.
She never had any trouble with it thickening anytime best I remember.

All that
good bounty sure did taste good come cold weather and like mama said it sure
did beat a snowball. I look around today and see so many patches empty compared
to back then and it makes me sad. A lot of folks still plant gardens and we try
to put a little one out but as for forty acres it’s hard to find them anymore.

I bet daddy
and all of his old buddies are planting forty acres in heaven again this spring
and enjoying every minute of it.

About Me

I'm a country girl with a country heart.I often visit the places where I once grew and walk the same path my ancestors knew. My love for the simple life is instilled in my writing. I'm married and have one son and three grandchildren and one great grandson. When I'm not writing I'm making quilts. Some of my best poems and stories have come while quilting. So come along with me to a place I know. We'll visit for a while and together we'll grow. The country side is my home. Just a country girl born, bred and grown.